


Sailors, fighting on the dancefloor

by phoenix_rose (mordwen)



Category: British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Bleed, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, post-filming sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 00:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20106433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordwen/pseuds/phoenix_rose
Summary: Taron is practically vibrating out of his skin. He spent the day filming the orgy scene in the nightclub with Bennie and the Jets segueing into thumping bass  — one dancer kissing his neck, him kissing another, and a third going down on him. By the end of four takes, the lust was not really feigned. He feels urgent, taut — all that top energy from the day with nowhere to go. Good thing Richard is on his way over.





	Sailors, fighting on the dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> Well! It seems I have tripped and become a purveyor of porn.
> 
> I am still working on Part 3 of Bromance, but [this gifset](https://mordwen.tumblr.com/post/186465218363/olivcrstark-rocketman-2019-dir-dexter) just would not leave me alone and I had to write this.
> 
> A thousand thanks to [heavensfallingaroundus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus) who I drip-fed this to over four days or something terrible and feel like it was akin to edging, given the constant mini-cliffhangers.
> 
> I have no idea what the actual names of the extras are from that scene — I chose the names from the list of dancers listed on IMDB. If you know their names, please tell me and I'll change it!
> 
> Oh, and the title, obviously, is from David Bowie’s “Life on Mars”.

Taron pulls Leon towards him, careful not to knock his sailor cap off this time, kisses him fiercely, puts his hand down towards where Alex is exactly where he’s supposed to be and drags fingers up his broad back while Alex pretends to go down on him. The other man is kissing Taron’s neck and honestly he’s blanked on the man’s name right now, is hungry for Leon, devouring him, and far too aware of how close Alex is to his actual semi-hard cock. They’ve done this four times now and the choreography on this one was perfect so it’s just whether Dexter has got what he’s after. 

After a while, he pulls away from Leon, looks at him with what’s turning into unfeigned lust, looks down at Alex… and finally hears “cut”!

The dancers around him step back, give him space, and Taron stands up, says, “Thanks, boys, hope that was as good for you as it was for me!” to general laughter and then he stalks off to grab his mobile phone and dash off a text to Richard. 

_ You free tonight? Need to see you. Drinks at mine? _

He feels urgent, taut. He wanted that to be Richard he was kissing and the revelation feels like it will split him in shards if he can’t hold himself together. 

Dex comes over and they chat about the next scenes, and Taron drags himself back into the day. 

*** 

Richard knocks at the door to Taron’s flat just as the sun is going down, and Taron draws him in, shuts the door behind him, grasps both Richard’s forearms and pulls him close. Taron is still wearing the black tank top, his broad muscles straining under it, and hot pants, tight, showing off his thick thighs and not concealing anything else either. Richard can’t help the quick inhale and the flick of his eyes down to Taron’s crotch. 

“Richard…” breathes Taron, low. “You’re here.”

“I’m here, T, what’s going on?”

Taron hasn’t let him go, is lifting his hands and grasping him again, manoeuvring him into the room. They’re so close to each other. Taron is practically vibrating out of his skin, all that top energy from the day with nowhere to go. 

“Are the rumours true, Dicky?” asks Taron. “Is it true you’re not averse to kissing a man when there’s no cameras around?” He strokes one finger deliberately, slowly, down Richard’s forearm, watching his impossibly blue eyes, and he smiles, slightly possessive when he sees Richard’s pupils dilate and his eyes widen and his breath catch. 

“Taron…” Richard says, broken, his hands tightening on Taron’s waist. 

“I want you so much… been thinking about you all day,” says Taron. “Is that a yes, Dicky?”

“Yes,” says Richard and it’s almost but not quite a whine. He pushes his hips closer to Taron and Taron lifts one hand to wrap into the curls at the nape of Richard’s neck. 

Richard doesn’t quite know where to look, Taron’s smouldering eyes, his luscious mouth, the strong shoulders on display above the black material, the pebbled nipples under it. His hands flutter up Taron’s sides and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, overwhelmed. Taron pulls his hair ever so slightly, positions Richard’s head where he wants it. Taron is consumed by the lust he feels coursing through him, feels reckless and electric. He’s held in it, suspended in time, this moment of desire, of _ want. _ His cock is rock hard in his tight hot pants, but that’s not where he feels this the most — it’s in his chest, an ache, and his belly, warm, coiled intensity, in waves of heat that roil over him. 

And Richard rocks into him, moans, _ “Please, Taron…” _ and Taron practically growls, closes the minuscule distance between them, and they’re kissing, soft slide of lips at first that turns into Taron taking, greedy, as Richard’s mouth opens to Taron’s tongue and Taron licks into him again and again, Richard’s hands around his back, and Taron gripping his arm so, so hard. 

After an age, they stop for air, and Taron laughs, “I seem to remember I lured you here with the promise of a drink, old fruit.”

And Richard, a bit dazed, says, “That you did,” and lets go of Taron, lets the man turn and walk into the lounge room, watches his gorgeous arse as he pours them both a beer. 

Richard’s quiet, says, “Cheers, mate,” and drinks. They’re still standing, close. 

“All okay?” asks Taron, suddenly a bit nervous now that the moment has passed, worried he’s pushed something he oughtn’t to have. 

“Aye, golden. Not entirely sure what I’m allowed to want here, though,” says Richard, in his usual calm, understated tones. 

Taron feels that lightning thrum through him again. “All of it. I don’t know.”

“You just need to know, T, that I’ve been imagining this moment since the first day we met. And I could fall for you easy as breathing…”

“Yeah?” says Taron, soft. 

“Yeah, T. I’m halfway there already.”

And T reaches up, kisses him again, presses warm lips to pillowy softness, says, “I wasn’t planning on just using you to blow off steam, if that’s what you’re worried about…”

And Richard smiles, deep and real, all the way up to his eyes, and murmurs, “So, I’m assuming you have a bed somewhere around here, eh?”

***

Taron tugs Richard towards him on the bed, by his hips, on the edge of rough, manhandles him into position and leans down over him, arms framing his torso. He’s still swimming in the fierce power of the orgy scene from earlier in the day, lust and recklessness and _ taking_. He leans down, his bare chest brushing against Richard’s as Richard arches up to meet him, kisses him fiercely, bruising force, pulls back a little and takes his lower lip between his teeth, stretching it out for a moment and Richard gasps, squirms.

Taron presses his hips down, his thick cock stiff against Richard’s, their bollocks sliding soft against each other. Richard spreads his legs wider, his hands on Taron’s bum, pushing him in closer, a little frantic, kissing back.

Taron ruts against him for a little, then flips them both, starts to push Richard down his body, and whispers, “Is this okay?” Richard just hums, kisses down Taron’s torso, shifts down lower. Taron doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, and then like Richard is reading his goddamn mind, Richard says, “You can pull my hair, if you like, move me how you want me…” and Taron feels himself _ignite_, does that _immediately_, works his throbbing prick between Richard’s lips and fucks up in to him while he pushes down on the back of his head, then pulls him back up, rhythmic and wet-hot-tight but not too deep, he doesn’t want Richard to _choke_, and it feels incredible. Richard is an amazing cocksucker, simply brilliant, phenomenal. At some point, Taron’s braincells come back online and he realises he’s said some of that out loud but he doesn’t care any more. “Ohhhh, Rich, genius, _fuck_…”

He doesn’t want to come like this — the image in his mind all the way home was absolutely Richard beneath him, and fucking him _ hard _ . “Want to fuck you, Dicky, want to be _ in you_, can I?”

Richard moans, obscene, and swears. “Fuck, yeah, T, yeah, _ fuck _ …” and crawls back up Taron to kiss him, sloppy and still tasting of him. Taron’s bought supplies, earlier, because he’s not stupid, so he reaches to his bedside table and flips the lid on the lube, covers his fingers with it and then reaches between them and under Richard and _ into _ him, stroking, stretching, listening to his breath hitching as he _ grinds _ on Taron’s fingers, opening himself up, and Taron has never been harder in his _ life_.

“Condom, T… have you got a condom?” asks Richard, breathless and needy, and Taron says, “yes, yes, course” and then he’s fumbling for it, and rolling it down on himself and Richard is lowering himself onto Taron and bearing down to take his thickness deep into him and it’s almost too much but Taron just holds his hips, fingers digging in, _ marking him_, and then he flips them again, and just goes for it, slamming his prick into Richard over and over, puts the man’s legs over his shoulders to get the angle right and Richard is chanting, “yeah, T, fuck,” over and over so he’s doing something he likes, and “harder, god” so he does, each thrust moving Richard up the bed a little, and Richard’s starting to make little whimpering noises and his nails are digging into Taron’s shoulders, and then Richard’s eyes widen and Taron is overcome with _ awe _ as Richard _ falls apart_, coming hot untouched between their bellies and suddenly so, so tight around Taron’s cock, _ Jesus_, and he falls over that edge himself, white-hot, and he moans, long and deep as he pulses into the rubber and collapses onto the man beneath him, muscles suddenly jelly.

He grips the base of it as he pulls out, knots it and tosses it in the bin, comes back to Rich, who looks blissed out, hair a mess, covered in sweat. “Sorry, sorry… I didn’t mean…” and Richard interrupts him, soft hand cupping his face, thumbtip gently sweeping along his cheekbone. “Are you kidding me? That was hotter than any ten fantasies I’ve had about you since we started filming.”

And Taron’s weirdly shy all of a sudden. “You’ve had fantasies about me?”

“So many, love,” Richard grins. “But in none of them did I feel as _ wanted _ as I just felt then. That was incredible.”

Taron ducks his head. “For me too…”

“Well, then, duckie,” says Richard, and Taron laughs, “Give me a call after you shoot the rest of the orgy scene? I’m definitely up for a repeat performance.”

“Shall do, Dickie. Shall do. Dinner?”

“Absolutely.”

And Taron lies back, folds his arms behind his head, with Richard propped up on one arm and gazing at him fondly. He could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me as mordwen on tumblr — come and say hi


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